


Stolen

by Redfire_Dragon



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Horror, Is it not kidnapping if you don't consider the victim a person?, Just stealing?, Kidnapping, Time Travel Whiplash, Time travelers, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redfire_Dragon/pseuds/Redfire_Dragon
Summary: Mysterious strangers are plotting something. They're coming for a certain black and white praxian, and there may not be anything that can be done to stop them.  But the Autobots are sure going to try.Once they figure out who exactly it is they are after that is.Updates will be erratic. I already have three major fics I'm updating weekly.Beware.BEWARE.





	1. Watchers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting with using only dialogue for parts our main character does not directly witness.

~On a Bluff overlooking the Ark~

"Is that the one?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yep. Black and white, wings that resemble vehicle doors, turns into a primitive earth police vehicle. That's the one."

"Now we just have to figure out how to separate him from the others."

 

 

~Later Inside the Ark~

"Something... something is off Prime."

"What do you mean Jazz?"

"There are some... humans? They have been stalking one of our bots. I've got it narrowed down to just a few bots, but... well it's tricky. For humans they are... surprisingly hard to detect or track."

"What exactly are you saying Jazz?"

"I don't know who they are but... it's uncanny. Something isn't right about them, too quiet, too calculated. They aren't normal humans, they are on a mission and while they haven't actually _done anything_  done anything, they are... They are _hunting_."

"Hunting."

"Yeah Prime, hunting. I feel it deep in my code."

"Jazz, that's ridiculous, why would any human be hunting one of our Autobots?"

"He's right Prime."

"Red Alert? Don't tell me you are in on this."

"Security is my _job_  Prime, and Jazz isn't the only one who's noticed them. They have been lurking around the Ark for months now, occasionally leaving to follow patrols or battle units."

"Hmm...."

"Told ya Prime."

"This is very disturbing. Jazz, Red Alert, I want you two to collaborate, compare your notes and get me a list of which mechs our unwelcome guests might be targeting. I want security tightened and increased scans for foreign tech. I want to know if they are working for the Decepticons or someone else. Human, alien, I don't care, I want to know. See what your agents can turn up but don't send anyone that is on the list of possible targets. I don't want this getting out to the general crew but see if you can find a way to narrow down that list however do not, I repeat, _do not_  put anyone in unnecessary danger. Understood?"

"Understood Prime."

"Loud and clear Prime. We'll take care'a it."

"Jazz."

"Ye-ehss?"

"You are not to harm the humans."

"Don't worry Prime, I won't hurt 'em."

"Promise me."

"Fiiiiiiiiiiine. I promise I won't hurt the humans. Unless given orders to the contrary."

"Jaaaazz."

"Ah'm a pragmatist Prime. Just keepin' mah options open for if things change later on."

"Fine. Dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment any thoughts you have on the 'dialogue style' of this first chapter
> 
> It's an experiment.


	2. In the Quiet Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like having our odd watchers after him is having an affect on Prowl...

_Pain tore through him, endless and blazing, but the only sensation he felt. No hands or pedes, no face no helm no sensor wings, no sides or back or arms or legs or anything. Only pain. And the numbers. Endless numbers. The numbers meant things, so much meaning wrapped in each one. A whole world of meaning. But there was no time, they ran by so quick, shifting changing. And the pain ruled over it all. What was this endless hell? The numbers all around, calculations sequences arrays, endless streaming by, constant flux. But the pain continued to grind down on him. He fought and struggled. There had to be more. There had to be. More than this pain, more than just these numbers. Wasn't there something before? Something... something that had been different?_

 

Prowl started from his recharge screaming. He could hear it all around him but his audials picked up nothing. It took a while to settle, reassured by the lack of pain, processor re-calibrating to the reality. He was in his berth in his quarters on the Ark planet Earth. The reason his audials reported no sound was that the screaming was all in his helm, he had written a program two months ago, when this had started, that locked his vocalizer offline when he recharged, requiring a password to boot up so his screaming would not disturb the others. The lack of physical sound to his screams meant it took longer to escape the nightmares but the second time Jazz had broken into his rooms to find out what 'the bloody screaming was all about' Prowl'd made sure his condition would not cause undue distress the others. Besides, while once might be a freak accident, twice was a pattern and he wasn't sure he could survive the embarrassment of the _whole crew_  knowing he was having nightmares.

Especially since, as a rule, Cybertronians didn't dream.

Oh sure, recharge made an easy corollary to human sleep, and during the de-fragmentation cycles some semi-conscious review of old memory files might happen, but there was never anything _new_. It was just that, review of previous experiences. Sometimes, especially recovering from trauma, such memories could trigger system wide panic and a mech could wake up screaming from pain or terror or rage over some event now past. And with the war having lasted so long there wasn't a single mech on this crew who didn't have that happen sometimes.

But what was happening to Prowl was different, unnatural. The experiences that haunted his recharge were not anything that had happened to him before, not even the rare 'rehashed' mix up memory file reviews that some mechanisms suffered. They weren't memories. They weren't _his_  memories at least. But they were there and they _hurt_. They hurt so pit cursed much he had trouble recharging at all anymore, frame reluctant to cycle down now that recharge was equated to pain.

He really should have gone to Ratchet immediately when they started but he'd been so embarrassed, what with Jazz hacking into his quarters to shake him awake, and knowing the whole crew already believed he had some sort of serious glitch. The _last thing_  he wanted to do was go to medical with a complaint of some sort of... well major recharge memory glitch. Even if it didn't turn out to be a glitch in the end the whole crew would treat it as such, vindicated in their beliefs, given more reason to scorn him.

Prowl forced his frame up, getting to his tired pedes. Did he have any pain blockers left? He always woke from the nightmares (what else was he to call them? They resembled so much more the human phenomena than anything naturally Cybertronian) with a terrible processor ache, and often a pain deep in his spark. His hands shook as he searched the drawers of the small beside table. No pain blockers. What time was it? 3:14 AM. Hm... too late to bother trying to go back to recharge, not that he could with a helm ache like this. Besides... the nightmare would still be lurking there waiting for him. He really should have gone to Ratchet at the same time when he made the program to prevent his screaming while in recharge, the moment when he realized that this was a pattern.

But he'd hoped he could handle it himself, and they had been infrequent at first, and... less painful, less distressing. But they were getting worse. Now they came almost every night. Even though he hadn't gone to Ratchet he should have gone and talked to the medic before now. He should do so now.

Oh but everyone was deep in recharge this time of night, except those on sentry duty. He let out a sigh rubbing the metal around his optics, especially toward the outer side of them, the part of the face humans called 'the temple', though what it had to do with religious buildings Prowl would never understand. The rubbing helped a little, helping tight cables to relax, making the pain ease just a bit. It was too deep in the night to bother anyone, but too close to morning to try to get more recharge, with his early wake up time of 6:00 AM. No, time was wasting. Fuel, work. Maybe he could shake off the lingering malaise with the familiarity of routine, such as it was on this strange organic world they'd landed on.

Prowl headed out of his quarters, locking the door as always behind him, and headed toward the rec room on weary pedes. No one was up this time of the night, he didn't have to pretend everything was fine. His shoulders and overall posture were slumped slightly, doorwings sagging at a wearily dejected angle. At least the fuel would help ease the pain in his helm a little, if he was lucky. But nothing ever eased the pain in his spark except time. Already his mind drifted forward, already prepping and reviewing the work of yesterday in preparation for the work of this day. Being busy might not take away the pain, but it was a welcome distraction.


	3. Medic Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ratchet loses his temper. Because Optimus Prime is oblivious.

~In the Prime's Office~

"Prime. Something is wrong with Prowl."

"What do you mean Ratchet? I saw him earlier, he seems fine."

"Really? And when you saw him did you _actually look at him_?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Sure you _saw_  him but did you actually _see_  him? The mech is doing poorly, and even more than his usual not quite taking care of himself that seems to be his default, no matter _what_  I do. He's been up all hours, Red Alert showed me the footage, and he looks... well... grey."

"He does not!"

"It's not much, not yet, but he's starting to fail. He is pushing too hard, something is wrong!"

"Then do something about it, you're the medic."

"PRIME! DAGFLRAGRSBLASTERSMEERFDN! RATTCHASTINGSCRAPLETSHENEFLGEFNENDR! PITSLAGGINGTRFREGNNEL!"

"Calm down Ratchet!"

"I CAN'T DO ANYTHING BECAUSE THE PITSLAGGINGGUTTERSLERISHTIN MECH'S AVOIDING ME! THATS THE WHOLE SCRAPLETSUCKINGTRALFAZMORON REASON I'M HERE!"

"Ratchet! Will you stop mauling my desk and calm down! What is it you want _me_  to do?"

"Order him!"

"Order him? He's an officer not a pizza."

"TO COME TO THE PITSUCKING MEDBAY YOU YOU DLAIOGNEIFNSDJJLFOIEJFSEK!"

"Fine! I'll do it! Let go! Dang it Ratchet! Come to me before it gets to the breaking point next time alright? Sheesh, I'm going to have to stop by later myself now."

"Sorry Prime.. just.... sorry. I... I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine Ratchet. I know we aren't always... good about coming in for checkups and I know... Well next time there is a concern come to me _before_  you work yourself into a frenzy."

"I've been _TRYING_  to talk to you _ALL WEEK_!"

"Oh, right, um, yes, right."

"You still have to come in for your yearly checkup. I am putting you down for tomorrow at noon."

"Oh yes, um about that I'm going to be"

"In my medbay. At noon. Or I'll come in here, or wherever you are hiding, and finish strangling you _before_  I haul you off for your checkup."

"Yes Ratchet. I'll be there."

"Good mech. I'll see you then. And don't forget to order Prowl to come by. If you order it, he'll come."

"Yes Ratchet."

 

 

 

~Outside the Ark~

"I've been thinking."

"Mercy help us."

"Oh shut up. But seriously, if this is the one we are looking for, if he really does have what it takes, what will happen here without him?"

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"So... just let all of the humans here die if need be?"

"You've been watching, these people are all idiots."

"Then all the more reason why they need him."

"I mean they don't seem to listen. He is wasted here. We will make _much_ better use of him. The needs of the many..."

"Outweigh the needs of the few."

 

~Nearby~

"Did you hear that Hound?"

"I did indeed."

"This is bad, really bad."

"We need to tell Jazz."

"He'll want a name."

"It looks like we won't be getting one today. Let's get going before they pick us up on those strange devices of theirs."


	4. Deskwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl's nightmares are getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not turn out the way I intended.

_He had been created, made for numbers. But this was wrong, a bastardization, a cruel mockery of his purpose. The numbers tore by, wild, complex, powerful, and the calculations were running running running but never letting him have the time to comprehend. He did not know the numbers, their meaning was hidden from him, they were not his. Just plug and chug, plug and chug, mechanical without any spark behind it, forcing the numbers through him, hard, fast, demanding, tearing him apart. It hurt so much, everything hurting, and the lack of things hurting._

_Before, there must have been a before. You could not feel a lack except you had known it to be fulfilled at another time._

_Time..._

_Time..._

_Time was the key. The key to the pain, the awful pain, and the numbers so strong and complex, tearing through him, processor and spark. Unraveling him only to wind him up again. The numbers... it had not always been this way. There had to be an escape, somehow, some way.._

_There had been a time when things were different._

 

He had to reach, straining, struggling to, obtain, the location, the time, but there was something heavy on his shoulder and all these horrible numbers he struggled, straining to understand.

"Prowl! Wake up!" Optimus Prime's voice heavy hands shaking him.

Prowl straightened, head coming up from his desk optics coming online. There were dents and scratches in the desk and streaks of paint, white paint, from his fingers and black from his bracers. Those had not been there before, not a single one, and a deep forbidding chill settled deep in his tanks seeing them. He looked up at Optimus. "I am so sorry sir. I must have dropped off in the middle of my work." He said chagrined and watched as the Prime's expression went from slightly worried to very worried, almost frightened. Prowl realized his vocalizer was still locked from recharge. He winced.

"Prowl, what is wrong?" The Prime asked placing a hand on Prowl's shoulder as the tactician straightened and tried to stand up, holding him down in his chair.

Prowl managed to get his vocalizer unlocked and booted up, forcing his doorwings into a alert, respectful position as he tried to salute. "S-sorry sir. I must have dropped in the middle of my work."

"You looked like you were having a fit." The Prime said, eyes going to the marked desk.

Prowl felt his fuel tanks churn with humiliation and shame. He was glitched. Just like they all said. Prowl with the glitches. "S-sorry sir. I... bad memory files. We... we all get it sometimes... wa-war..." He said almost choking as he realized he was lying flat out to his commanding officer. His doorwings flicked slightly upward in shock then even higher with horror. What was wrong with him? He _never_  lied. Ever.

"I've never heard you stutter so much and your vocalizer didn't come online when you did." Optimus Prime said voice worried, looking at Prowl as if he was afraid the tactician would shatter, while he rather illogically increased the force of his grip on the mech's shoulder. "Ratchet is right, something is wrong with you."

Prowl flinched, doorwings angling downward with shame, as if trying to hide behind him. "I assure you I a-am fine s-sir." Glitched. Defunct. Deficient. Damaged. Just two earth months of these nightmares and how far he had fallen already.

"Prowl, I am ordering you to go to medbay. Ratchet is to do a full diagnostic on you. Something is wrong. Remember with Red Alert a while back? It's okay, Ratchet is going to fix you up. You are going to be alright."

Prowl stared at his leader dumbly. Again the words appeared in his mind as numbers, twisting changing then turned back into their true nature, the sounds and words. Just like Red Alert? Red Alert had suffered a major glitch and the others didn't look down on or ridicule him. "Th-thank you Prime." He whispered doorwings sagging, wanting to sob with relief but keeping himself in line. He was just... so... so tired. And he hurt so much still from the nightmare, the numbers tearing through his processor that he could still feel faintly, lurking and throbbing, trying to take over his HUD while his spark throbbed in time.

"Come on, I'll walk you there. You can walk right?"

"Of course my Prime." Prowl tried to get up but that proved impossible. "Sir? You are going to have to let me up."

"Oh, right." The Prime moved his heavy hand off of Prowl's shoulder. "Come on, lets get you repaired."

And Prowl, rising and walking quietly by the side of his leader, discovered that was all he really wanted. It suddenly just felt so wonderful admit that he was broken, and have it be _okay_. Ratchet would figure out what was wrong with him, and he'd be repaired and everything would be okay.

20.432% probability.


	5. Medical Aid

"What do you mean there is nothing wrong with him? Of course there is something wrong with him! Just look at him! And... what? ... I know I'm not a medic but... Primus Ratchet! I don't care what the readings are..."

Prowl wondered if Optimus Prime knew his thundering voice could be heard right through the door that separated the tactician from the CMO and his Prime. Probably not. His Prime tended to be overly cautious when it came to feelings, as if his physically larger spark was proportionally more caring than was usual. Though if such things were the nature of the world Prowl would have been very small indeed, and Megatron's spark would have been too small to sustain a frame of any size. But Primus knew that size had nothing to do with kindness, a mini-bot could be just as caring as a over-sized cargo frame, Bumblebee and Optimus Prime perfect examples. Prowl rubbed his chestplates, his spark _hurt_. It had been earth hours since he'd been roused from the last nightmare by his Prime and still the pain was intense.

"WHAT?! What is wrong with his spark?!" The indignant roar made Prowl jump from the other room. They were still arguing. Angry, upset, frightened. Prowl looked down at his chestplates. Funny how they had brought up his spark so soon after he had himself been considering it.

He felt so empty, hollowed out inside. He had seen how each test had made Ratchet more and more upset, the growing worry, but all his tactical prowess and he had not predicted this. Nothing wrong with him. Nothing obvious, nothing that could be found or measured. What then? Just slowly coming apart at the seams of his being? Unraveling with glitches that could not be discerned from his native code, or perhaps just so much of his code faded and erroring, too many crashes, not enough of him left to continue functioning correctly.

He could hear the Prime yelling again in the next room. He couldn't stand it anymore, it was too much, he couldn't take it. He was failing, letting everyone down, ruining everything. He looked around the medbay, the different devices from the 23 tests the medic had done on him beyond the standard diagnostics.

Useless. And there was nothing he, or any other of his species, could stand less than the feeling of being useless. They had function, designed made and programmed for specific purposes. Inactivity was hard on any of them, even more on one such as Prowl. Especially under these circumstances. Even if he couldn't function as a mech, even if he was broken and glitched and coming undone, he still had his numbers at least. He could still do his work so long as his tactical computer continued to function.

Prowl carefully unhooked the lines and diodes still connected to him, then stood, pedes silent as he walked out of the medbay, heading back to his office. He could still get his work done at least, do his part to help take care of the Autobots. Maybe he would get to work on figuring out the problem with Jazz and Red Alert, what had the scouts and ops all so on edge. He'd been so distracted by the nightmares and personal suffering he hadn't been seeking after answers to such things as much as he probably should have.

Anything to distract himself from the pain, from his own inadequacies, his own uselessness.

 

 

"I didn't release you from medbay Prowl." Ratchet's voice, invading the tranquility of his mind. Prowl looked up from the datapad, optics going over the incriminating marks all over his desk. Shame, grief, self hate. Glitched, broken, defunct. He tried to raise his optics to the medic but they were stuck on the marks, the dents the scratches from his own fingers, the transferred paint, black and white. Light and dark, hope and despair, success and failure. His failure. The datapad in his hand made a faint sound of protest and Prowl forced his grip to slacken before he broke it. That wouldn't be enough, he forced himself to set it down even though it felt like the only shield he had against the horror unfolding in his own personal life.

Ratchet's hands appeared over the side of the desk, reaching out to scratch lightly at some of the transferred paint, peeling it away. "When did this happen Prowl?"

"Immediately before Optimus Prime escorted me to medbay. I was... one of the nightmares."

The medic's fingers continued to scratch at the transferred paint, his paint, peeling it up off the desk, removing the evidence of Prowl's failings. "What were you... dreaming of?" The medic asked, voice even, only disturbed by how awkward the medic handled that one word, that human word, that had no business being used to describe anything relating to their people.

"Numbers. It is always the numbers. And the calculations. And the pain." Again the shadows of the numbers tickled at his mind. They lingered longer and longer each time, after each episode.

"This looks... more violent than you have described to me." One streak of paint gone, now working on another one.

"Seeking. I was seeking. I needed. I don't understand how it works. I was... I needed to escape." He reached out, splaying a hand, seeing how it fit so perfectly the scratches and pulled his hand back in toward him, replaying the movement that had caused the damage in the first place.

"You needed to escape from what?"

"From... the pain... from being trapped... the... I was made to calculate Ratchet. Numbers are my function. But in the dreams... there is something wrong with it. It... I just want it to stop Ratchet. I just... want... things to go back to how they used to be. We aren't supposed to be without a frame Ratchet. In the dream.. I just wanted to... go back to when I had a frame."

"Hm..." The medic began scratching at the next streak of paint.

"I'm going insane aren't I?"

He could feel the medic's optics on him. "What makes you think that?" He asked in a neutral voice.

"Heard you and the Prime talking."

"Both of us?"

"The Prime."

"Just because I don't know what is wrong with you yet, doesn't mean we won't figure it out and get you repaired."

He didn't want to hope. Hope was too dangerous, hope hurt too much. His spark hurt so much already. He couldn't survive another flip from hope to despair today. "Ratchet. How many tests are there? I know enough to know these sort of things don't happen. At all."

"Are you sure you don't have a split spark twin?"

"Yes Ratchet, I'm certain. There would have been evidence before now and it is unlikely there is a way to forge such a bond without some sign or at least contact between the two sparks. But there are signs of such things right? I would be glad if you would check."

"Of course I am going to check. I... There are a lot more tests I can do Prowl. We are going to figure this out. I am not giving up yet and you don't get to just run off because you hear Optimus yelling." Prowl stared at the desk. He should say things, anything, but his spark felt so cold and empty. "We are going to figure this out Prowl. For now, to start, I need you to get extra recharge. The strain of not enough rest is taking a powerful toll. If you don't get better rested soon we won't be able to get this figured out. It can hide quite a lot. And I want you to start recording the dreams. Can you do that for me Prowl?"

"Yes sir." He said quietly, that was what was required of him. Falling apart. He was falling apart.

"Prowl. I'm offering you a lifeline. Try to focus okay."

"Is there any hope?"

"Yes. Prowl, you are far from a hopeless case. Work with me, and we'll get you back to full operative status. I can tell you are having a hard time, something is twisted in your processor. Just trust me. I'm the doctor here, trust me to take care of you. Trust all of us to take care of you. Just like with Red Alert."

"Is this really at all like what happened with Red Alert and his near meltdown?"

"It is similar in all the most important ways. And the biggest of those important ways is that you need to trust us, your friends and allies, to take care of you and make the judgement calls. How much faster would we have been able to help Red if he'd been able to co-operate from the beginning?"

"That is... logical." Prowl admitted, feeling the knot of tension around his spark beginning to ease. "Can I... can I still do my work at least?"

"Hm... that depends... is your tactical computer functioning properly?"

"Yes, so far as I can tell it remains unaffected."

"As far as I can tell too. It isn't really my call but yes, for now, you can, though Optimus may put in some strictures. Perhaps have someone check some of your work every once in a while to make sure nothing is too far off base. I am going to need you to follow all my orders though. Including checking in three times daily _at_  the medbay. And I am going to have to run more tests and I may need you in for observation depending on how things play out okay? Can you do that for me Prowl?"

Prowl hesitated. "Yes sir. I, I will do my best."

"Good. Starts now. Take this datapad in case you have another dream and go get some recharge. If you can't get to sleep in an hour or so let me know, I have some things that might help and we need you getting proper recharge before we can progress in this."

"Yes sir. Understood."


	6. Dangerous Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creepy Creepers don't think Transformers are 'real people'
> 
> Autobots connect the dots.

~A hill overlooking the Ark~

"If he really is what the stories claim then he will be of great use indeed."

"I know, I know."

"Don't tell me... you feel _sorry_  for him."

"I don't know... they just seem... so... human."

"They are just machines, machines like any others. Just because they work better, are more sophisticated, does not make them people. Cleverly crafted AIs incredibly intricate CPUs, fantastic processors, databanks you wouldn't believe. Especially his type. Beautiful craftsmanship. But in the end a machine is ultimately just a machine."

"Then why do we call them hes?"

"Hm... you are right. That is silly. They are just its."

"Right... of course..."

 

 

~The Office of Optimus Prime~

"Optimus Prime."

"Yes Red Alert."

"I know it is not any of my business, but I was listening in on the Prowl situation."

"Red Alert. I am disappointed in you. A mech's health is his own personal business."

"Now, hear me out Optimus Prime. Jazz and I have been continuing our investigations and, well, as we've pointed out, our unwelcome visitors are difficult to keep track of, to detect. But as best as we can calculate they first showed up two months and about two weeks ago. When I was listening in on Ratchet and Prowl I noticed that he mentioned his nightmares started around the same time. So I checked the tapes and the first one, when he woke half the officers with the screaming all that time back, it was almost to the day our best guess as to when the strangers first arrived."

"What does this mean Red Alert?"

"I can't be certain _all_  it might entail but I think, if nothing else, it means that Prowl is their intended target."

"Especially with all the things we've been overhearin' 'em say."

"Jazz. When did you get here?"

"Secret of tha trade Prime, secret of the trade."

"What is your take on all this Jazz?"

"It means that what we are doing is not enough. Whatever those freaks are up to, they are already succeeding, they have already gotten to our mech."

"Primus help us."

"What has Ratchet said? Have you told him about our lil' hunter problem?"

"No, I haven't told him, as I said I don't want this getting out and causing a stir among our mechs. You've said before the element of surprise is valuable, if they do not know we are on to them yet all the better right? I know you and Red and your agents are good at being discrete, but the rest of the Ark? They are wild and unpredictable at the best of times."

"What? Don't you think Ratchet would be able to be discreet?"

"Jazz, the fewer who know, the less likely the secret is to leak, you know this."

"I know Red, its just... I don't know. Maybe ifn we tell him he'll be able to do more... more for Prowl?"

"Are you... worried about him?"

"Shut up Red. He's a valuable asset."

"I'm surprised Jazz, you've always disdained him before."

"I just don't like anyone coming after mah mechs Prime. Everyone here, they are mine, mine to protect just as much as they are yours Optimus."

"Of course Jazz."

"Don't you laugh at me Optimus!"

"And don't _you_  hiss at me. But more seriously, should we begin involving Prowl in these meetings?"

"We need his tactical know how. He could be an asset."

"No Prime. If his condition is connected to our unwanted visitors alerting him might in turn alert them."

"What? Oh Red, tell me you are not saying what I think you are saying."

"Sorry Jazz, but until we know exactly how Prowl's condition and... nightmares are related to our visitors the mech is a security risk."

"Aw cummon Red. Don't be that way."

"I'm sorry Jazz. I fear Red Alert is right. We are going to have to keep Prowl out of this until we have a better idea of what is going on. He is also going to have to be confined to base. I want him safe. No more patrols, he does few of those taking it down to none until this is over won't be hard. No coming on attacks either. Unless we all leave, I won't have him left here alone either. Just... Just make sure he is safe Jazz. Red Alert, make sure to keep an optic on him at all times. I... I rescind my previous orders. You may put some cameras in his quarters to monitor him there too now. Whatever it takes Red Alert, we need to know what is going on."

"Understood Prime."

"Ah'll try Optimus, but... slaggit, he's not an idiot. He'll know something is up."

"He knows he is sick, just write it off as that. Keep him safe Jazz."


	7. A New Kind of Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the nightmares until now were just of pain and numbers, but the seeking of the last dream has opened a new path.
> 
> Just not a good one.

_"Please... please no more... no more..." He whispered, voice crackling with static. But again the long barbed pole was jammed between the plates in his back and electricity coursed through him. He screamed, thrashing against the chains that encircled wrists, ankles, neck, and entwined his doorwings, always pulling tight, keeping him suspended in the air with barely any room for movement. But the lightning that danced along wires, stimulating and scorching, made his entire frame convulse, yanking hard against the chains, slowly tearing the cables and linkages at every joint. His optics sizzled and whited out as his sensor-net was overcome by the terrible agonizing surges. He was coming apart at the seams even as his systems shorted out, as circuits scorched and burned out, as the spidery cracks in his armor where the shackles bound him grew ever wider, increasing in number, broken pieces falling to the ground unheard beneath the sound of his screams._

_He screamed and screamed and convulsed and screamed until his vocalizer crashed completely and still the pain went on and on and on._

_And then it was gone and the loss nearly crashed his over stimulated systems. Damage reports filtered into his pain dazed processor, slowly unfolding the grim realities before him. Ever more circuitry ruined. Ever more cables and linkages broken, torn, dislocated. Struts, warping, cracking. Internal systems failing. Armor in the areas where the shackles and chains bound him starting to disintegrate. Soon they would tighten them again, soon there would be nothing left protecting the delicate internals in those areas._

_He was dying. He knew it. Bit by bit, hour by hour, day by day. Dying slowly of torture._

_He forced his optics back online, seeing the small figure in front of him, standing on the platform that ringed the pit he was suspended half inside so that the smaller being was on optic level with him. The lenses in his optics whirred, clicking slightly, the internal mechanisms starting to fail from the torture. Slowly the face of the being in front of him came into focus. The creature looked human, and not human, so similar to the creatures he and the other Autobots had been protecting, and yet different in a way he could not reason out in his weakened state._

_He focused his strength, his power, on his vocalizer, prioritizing its repair above all else and forcing it to boot up despite the damage. "Wh-kzzzt-t do y-y-you w-ssshhhkk-nt want-t-t frrrom m-kzzz-m-me?" He managed to force out, struggling to ensure he spoke as clearly as possible. If he could just find out what they wanted he could co-operate or... or something... something to ease the pain._

_Or at least understand the purpose behind it._

_Understanding would have been enough._


End file.
